


I Hope You're Spinning In The Orbit Of Stars I'd Like To Chase

by kaijuvenom



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Damar is the character who's dead, Flashbacks, Grieving and trying to cope with the concept of death when ur technically immortal, M/M, also in this fic ziyal is still alive, although she isn't really in it, and he's already dead when this starts, because I said so, some other background original characters but only the cardassian oc has an important role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: Weyoun Nine has been cloned about a year after the end of the Dominion War as part of a "sorry for committing a little bit of genocide on the Vorta and Jem'Hadar" present from the Federation. He struggles with what to do now that he no longer feels enslaved to the Founders, and travels to Cardassia Prime, not planning on staying for long, but ending up finding several things to stay for.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	I Hope You're Spinning In The Orbit Of Stars I'd Like To Chase

**Author's Note:**

> dayoun stans make some NOIIIISEEEE [five people cheer halfheartedly]

****Weyoun Nine: Present Day****

_I can’t afford flowers, but if I could I’d not know where to plant them. I don’t know species; I’d probably sneeze. But rest assured, if I could I’d weep a bunch once a week._

The buzz of machinery was familiar. The bright white light as he opened his eyes was familiar. The Starfleet officer who greeted him as he sat up was not.

Weyoun Nine looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers and adjusting to once again having a body, and then back up at this unfamiliar person--it was an Andorian that Weyoun couldn’t recall ever meeting before. 

“I assume the war is over,” he said in response to the Andorian’s hesitant _hello_ as they began scanning over Weyoun’s body with a tricorder. Weyoun’s head felt scrambled, and he was unsure if it was because his genetics had been recoded, or he had simply been nonexistent for a longer period of time than usual.

“Yes. The Dominion has signed a treaty with the Federation, and most of the Jem’Hadar and Vorta have gone back to the Gamma Quadrant.”

Weyoun stood up, glancing around the large cloning facility and seeing it mostly devoid of any other life. “Why has my line been continued? Am I a prisoner? I can assure you, I won’t be providing you with any information on the Dominion.”

“Not at all. Your cloning is part of the treaty. All Vorta killed in the war on Federation territory are being cloned and given the choice to stay here, or go back to the Gamma Quadrant.”

“Ah.” Weyoun frowned. “Why would I stay here?”

“It may take some time for you to adjust, but your genetics have been reprogrammed to allow you free will. You aren’t controlled by the Founders, although most Vorta have chosen to go back to them anyway.”

This was altogether too much information for a Vorta who was still trying to remember the circumstances of his death to take in, and his frown deepened. “I can stay,” he said, trying to clarify the Andorian’s words.

“Yes. The Federation has established several dozen facilities for the Jem’Hadar and Vorta. You’re considered refugees, we realize you had no true say in your actions during the war, and the process of reintegrating the Jem’Hadar into society is… a slow one without the help of more Vorta.”

“Reintegrating…?” Weyoun shook his head. “Never mind. I-I’ll need to think about it. I can’t- I-” He paused, shuddering, as a phantom pain forced its way across his chest. He’d been shot. How dull. Much less entertaining than Weyoun Seven’s death (in retrospect, of course). He could still remember Damar’s laughter when Weyoun Eight had appeared, how genuinely amused he’d seemed by such an embarrassing death on the part of Weyoun.

_Damar._

He was dead. 

The sinking feeling that nearly caused Weyoun to topple over, and would have if the Andorian hadn’t caught him, felt a hundred times worse than the memory of Weyoun Eight’s death.

Damar was dead, and somehow, Weyoun had been resurrected once again, as if it was one last way for Damar to annoy him. Because _of course_ Damar would die when Weyoun was cloned with the free will to be able to do what he wanted for once. Of course he would choose the most inconvenient time to be a hero and die in a war, and it absolutely _had_ to be right when Weyoun was realizing that little twinge of happiness he would get whenever he heard Damar’s name, saw his face, actually _meant_ something. That Weyoun Six’s behavior with Damar and feelings toward him hadn’t been a fluke.

It was just like Damar. 

He always seemed to be able to find some way to annoy the living hell out of Weyoun, whether it was by his nonchalant behavior in regards to the war, his insistence that Weyoun Six deserved happiness, or… well, dying. 

He was dead.

“I need-” Weyoun began, clearing his throat. “I need to- where is Legate Damar buried?” 

The Andorian blinked at him as if they hadn’t expected that. “I would imagine on Cardassia,” they said, “although you would have to ask Mr. Garak, I’m sure he would know the exact location. He lives on Cardassia Prime, I could arrange transportation for you.”

Weyoun nodded quickly. “Yes. Thank you. As soon as possible.”

****Weyoun Six: One Year Before Present Day****

_You led a protest right to the ending._

Weyoun Six, while fully aware he wasn’t exactly the way the Weyoun line was meant to be, didn’t mind his differences. Neither did Damar. They became friends, and one night, without realizing the repercussions of such questions, Weyoun had inquired upon Cardasssian mating rituals. He’d wanted to experiment--he’d said it just like that; _experiment,_ and Damar had looked at him like he was insane (and perhaps he was), but had answered Weyoun’s questions. 

At some point or another, through a haze of embarrassing inquiries and laughter, they had ended up next to each other on the couch, Damar staring at him like Weyoun was the most interesting thing in the galaxy, a light smile on his face. 

“I realize my expertise in this matter may be lacking, I haven’t--” Weyoun paused, looking away as he counted, “well, it’s been quite a few years.”

Damar laughed again, and his amusement made Weyoun’s nervousness dissipate. But his face grew serious after a moment, and he cleared his throat before speaking. “Weyoun, I- I want this. I want you. Do you understand that?”

Weyoun blinked at him. “Yes. I follow. I’m aware how-”

“What I mean is,” Damar interrupted him, causing Weyoun to promptly shut his mouth, “this isn’t an experiment, or the result of too much kanar or anything else. I care about you.”

“How kind,” Weyoun said, because he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say to that.

Damar, ever enigmatic (Weyoun of several months ago would never have described Damar as anything similar to _enigmatic,_ but things change, he supposed), took both of Weyoun’s hands in his own, holding them in such a manner you might think they were priceless antiques. 

“Weyoun-” he began, then paused, sighing. “I should’ve had a drink for this.”

Was this the point of rejection? Weyoun had never actually been rejected before. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of handling it. In fact, as tears began swimming in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to push them down, he was sure he wasn’t capable of handling it. 

“I think you are… incredibly frustrating. Impossible, ridiculous, tiresome, smug, obnoxious, _absolutely_ gorgeous, and far too smart for your own good, so I don’t see how you can be this _stupid.”_

A tear threatened to spill from one of Weyoun’s eyes and he wanted to brush it away, but at the same time, that would mean letting go of Damar’s hands and he refused to do that. He squeezed them tighter instead.

Damar continued speaking, his tone softer than Weyoun had ever heard it. “And despite whatever your impression of _my_ intelligence might be, I do know some things about the Vorta. You use sex as a bargaining chip, a way to strengthen diplomatic relationships, something to make the other party feel more at ease with you. You don’t have romantic relationships, or at least, you aren’t _supposed_ to, and you aren’t meant to have _your_ wants fulfilled during sex. Am I correct?” 

Weyoun frowned. Aside from the lack of romantic relationships, wasn’t that how it worked? People agree to have sex, one person is the one who submits and does what the other person wants. Once the other person is satisfied, it’s over. That was the only way Weyoun knew. That was the only way there _was._ “Yes?” He finally replied, his tone more questioning and confused than he would have liked. 

“Alright. So one of two things are happening right now. One, you’re trying to manipulate me into giving you something or doing something for you, which is unlikely, I have nothing you need and even if I did, you could get it in a hundred other ways before resorting to this. So the more likely option is that you do want this, but you’re hiding your actual desires behind a pretense of experimentation, so you don’t feel the guilt of disobeying the Founders. You’re gaining information, so it’s perfectly fine, but I need to know… if you genuinely enjoy my company enough to do this.”

After several long seconds, Weyoun shook his head. “I don’t understand.” He didn’t see why it mattered what his thoughts on this whole thing were. Clearly, he was missing something. A very large something that was an important piece to the puzzle. 

“Weyoun,” Damar said, letting go of one of Weyoun’s hands to brush away the tear on his cheek. “On Cardassia, sex is something done between people, people who participate in making the other feel safe, comfortable, and… satisfied. Is that what you want?”

There was a long silence as Weyoun stared at him, sitting so close to Damar on the couch, feeling like he might spontaneously combust from the amount of things he was feeling. “I don’t understand,” he repeated. The Founders had told him he wouldn’t understand intimacy, that he wouldn’t be capable of enjoying it, so of course doing this with Damar was just an experiment. But then again, this wouldn’t be the first time the Founders had lied to him.

“Will you let me show you?” Damar asked.

Weyoun nodded after a moment, and Damar gently pulled him forward, until Weyoun’s brain caught up with what was happening and he moved his legs onto the couch and nestled himself in Damar’s lap. Damar wrapped his arm around Weyoun’s back, keeping him close, although not holding him tightly. It felt safe. 

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?” Damar asked, one hand resting on the back of Weyoun’s neck, brushing his hair through his fingers.

Again, Weyoun nodded silently.

Damar leaned forward, and Weyoun thought for a moment he was going to kiss him--which Weyoun had done before with other people, that was safe territory he knew how to navigate. Only Damar didn’t do that. He moved his head to the side, breathing lightly against his skin, making Weyoun shiver, before opening his mouth against the bottom corner of Weyoun’s ear. It made him gasp, at first in shock, and then for a different reason, as waves of pleasure rolled through him when Damar used his tongue, licking and sucking across the ridges in a way that was similar to how Weyoun might treat the earlobe of someone he was trying to get classified information from.

“Oh,” he said softly, eyes fluttering shut as his grip around Damar’s neck tightened. _“Oh.”_

“Has no one done this for you before?” Damar asked, whispering into his ear in a way that made Weyoun’s head spin.

 _“No.”_ Weyoun had often wondered what it was like, how someone could melt into such simple touches, but he had never indulged that curiosity, because that wasn’t how it was done. The Founders would never allow it.

Damar’s mouth moved down, across Weyoun’s jaw and to his neck, where he seemed content to focus his energy on making sure every square centimeter of his skin had received attention. Weyoun hadn’t even known he was _capable_ of feeling like this, no one had ever been this gentle with him, he’d never felt this safe and content, and he’d never felt more like his entire body was on fire than he did right now.

When Damar finally pulled away from Weyoun to look at him, Weyoun was fairly certain he actually whined at the sudden loss. 

Damar was staring at him, apparently fascinated with Weyoun’s face, running a finger across his cheek. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered softly, and Weyoun blinked at him. “I’ve never seen you blush before.” 

Weyoun wanted to say it was because he wasn’t sure he ever blushed before right now, or at least he’d never felt this warm. Instead, he stayed quiet. For once in all his lives, he seemed to be out of things to say. 

“Is your blood purple?” Damar asked, which Weyoun didn’t think was an appropriate question for their current situation, but he found he didn’t mind it. He nodded in response.

“Beautiful,” Damar repeated, trailing his fingers across Weyoun’s hairline and back down his jaw again. 

“I want to kiss you,” Weyoun said, his voice sounding far more breathy and quiet than he felt it should be. 

“You want to, or do you think it’s what you should do?” Damar asked. 

Weyoun considered the question, staring into Damar’s eyes and then looking down at his lips. “I want to,” he said, feeling very certain in his answer.

Damar nodded, bringing his hand around to cradle the back of Weyoun’s head, pulling him in until their noses touched. 

They stayed that way for a moment, until Weyoun closed the distance between them and kissed him. 

****Weyoun Nine: Present Day****

_You drove me further than I had ever dare to dream._

Garak had given him directions to the war memorial several days ago. For now, Weyoun was staying in a refugee camp on Cardassia Prime, still trying to find the courage to visit Damar. 

He kept to himself mostly, he’d seen another Vorta, one whose name he should probably know because he’d recognized their face, but it slipped his mind. He avoided them, spending most of his time aiding the Starfleet and Cardassian volunteers with medical treatment and providing food (food replicators were hard to get, and once they broke, they had to be sent away to be repaired, which took months). 

Most of the Cardassian refugees avoided him as much as Weyoun did them, they sent him nasty looks (which were fully deserved, he supposed), but they didn’t often confront him. There were more important things, and Weyoun wasn’t exactly someone with a punchable face (demeanor, maybe, but he usually got away with saying whatever he wanted because he was so small and weak looking). 

“Are you in Starfleet?” A young Cardassian girl asked, tugging on Weyoun’s shirtsleeve. 

Weyoun gave her a gentle smile, leaning down to speak with her. “No. I’m a volunteer. Is there something I can do for you?” 

“My family is in Lakarian City,” she said, and Weyoun’s blood ran cold. “I was supposed to go there, too- to the amusement park, but I got sick, so I had to stay with my grandpa, when the war came here, they couldn’t come back to get me, and my grandpa, he- he went away to fight, and he never came back. I need to go back to Lakarian City.” She said this all in a very precise manner, as if she’d been nervous to approach someone from Starfleet and had written it all down to memorize. It would’ve been cute if... well, in any other situation.

“I think-” Weyoun paused, clearing his throat and looking away from the girl. “What’s your family name? I can search it in the databases and we’ll see if we can find your family.”

She smiled at him, and she was missing one of her front teeth. She couldn’t have been more than nine years old, and Weyoun wanted to end this encounter and hide away forever. 

“Nalat,” she said, watching as Weyoun stood and typed the name into the computer behind them. “My name is Siasha.”

They were dead.

Obviously.

Their bodies hadn’t been found; of _course_ their bodies hadn’t been found. The entire city had been levelled. 

Weyoun distinctly remembered when the Founder had made that decision. He remembered when he’d made the announcement. And he remembered watching footage of Jem’Hadar troops destroying the city. He remembered wanting so badly for it to stop, and not being able to do a thing about it. Being physically trapped by the Founder’s orders and completely helpless to disobey them no matter how terribly he may have wanted to. 

He didn’t know now if he had actually been forced to obey the Founders by his genetics, or if they’d just brainwashed him into thinking he was. It didn’t matter.

“Do you have any other family?” Weyoun asked, feeling hollow. 

The girl shook her head no.

“Well, you know what I can do?” He asked, forcing a smile on his face as he turned back to her. “I can take you to a nice gentleman named Garak, and he runs a nice place for children very close by here.”

“What about my family?” She asked, and Weyoun didn’t know how to answer. 

“I’m afraid--” he started, and then tried again. “Siasha, I-” He kneeled down, gently taking her hand. “Your family isn’t here anymore. They… the Dominion attacked Lakarian City, and…” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”

“They can’t come back?” Siasha asked, tears swimming in her eyes. 

Weyoun shook his head no, and she burst into tears, wrapping herself around Weyoun and preventing him from continuing his job. He gently lifted her up, carrying her to the nearest Starfleet officer.

“I need to take her to Garak, I’ll be back soon,” to which they nodded in response, giving the girl who was crying into the crook of Weyoun’s neck a genuinely sad and pitying look, one Weyoun had never quite been able to master. 

“It’s alright,” he said to the girl, petting her hair in what he hoped was a soothing way. “Mr. Garak will make sure you’re taken care of.”

Garak wasn’t too happy to see Weyoun (not that anyone ever was), but he welcomed them in and gave Siasha a candy and a new coat.

“You said her family died in Lakarian City?” Garak asked quietly, looking away from Siasha Nalat, who had fallen asleep on one the beds Garak had laid out for the Cardassian orphans he looked after. 

Weyoun nodded.

“Does she know you’re the one who ordered the attack?”

He’d expected a question like that, and he resisted the urge to correct Garak, that it had been the Founder’s idea and he had only done what she told him because he had no choice. 

“No.”

“She wants to stay with you,” Garak said.

Weyoun blinked, looking up at him. “She can’t,” he said immediately. “It would be--highly inappropriate. And aside from that, I don’t know the first thing about children, and-” Weyoun broke off as Garak held up a hand to silence him. 

“About that, we’re in agreement. But she won’t listen to me, you’ll tell her tomorrow you can’t take her.”

“How do I go about-” Weyoun started, but Garak once again interrupted him.

“With tact. Now kindly remove yourself from the premises, I do have things to do, very busy, you know.” He made a _shoo_ gesture and Weyoun was quick to obey, still trying to figure out how to talk to children. 

As promised, Weyoun arrived back at the orphanage the next morning, and Siasha Nalat practically threw herself at him in greeting. Rather bemused, Weyoun hugged her back. He tried talking to her, but she didn’t seem willing to say much, she just clung to Weyoun’s arm and was highly reluctant to let go. 

When Weyoun left for the day, she cried, and Weyoun had no idea how to handle it, so he just left her crying. She came chasing after him as he was halfway down the dirt road, with Garak following after her telling her she wasn’t allowed to leave without permission, and throughout all of this, Weyoun was simply… confused. For some reason, this child had latched onto him and he couldn’t get her to let go.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like children, or he didn’t like Siasha, she was a sweet child, a bit quiet and unresponsive at times, and she often outright refused to let Weyoun out of her sight. 

****Weyoun Five: Three Years Before Present Day****

_You said to fly away, and I did._

“I don’t see why you’re so concerned about it,” Weyoun said, lounging casually on the couch in Dukat’s office, trying to remain calm despite the flare of annoyance creeping up on him at Dukat’s endless complaints. “There are far more important things to concern yourself with.”

“I want a statement from the Dominion _demanding_ he turn himself _immediately._ He is a traitor to Cardassia, and by extension, the Dominion. He is a threat to security and-”

“Gul Dukat,” Weyoun said, standing to address him. “The Dominion, and _by extension,_ Cardassia, has far more urgent matters to concern itself with than a disgraced tailor who, as far as I can tell from your attitude, rejected your sexual advances a decade ago and your ego has never recovered.”

Damar, who had previously been silent as he stood at the door, laughed into his hand and disguised it with a cough when Dukat turned to glare at him.

Seemingly unable to come up with an appropriate retaliation, Dukat glared at Weyoun for several more seconds before turning away, sitting at his desk in a manner that Weyoun hoped meant he was no longer going to be held prisoner in this office for more tirades. He left immediately, pausing outside the doors to take a breath, trying to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to snap anymore at Dukat, they were meant to be working _together,_ the Dominion _needed_ Cardassia. He wasn’t sure how much longer of this he could take. 

The office doors slid open and Weyoun involuntarily cringed at the sound of footsteps, absolutely not ready to speak to Dukat any more for the foreseeable future. Thank the Founders, it wasn’t Dukat. Damar stepped outside of the office and waited until the doors had closed before speaking, addressing Weyoun quietly.

“I admit, I didn’t much care for you when we first met, but you’re beginning to grow on me.”

Weyoun lifted his eyes to Damar’s, a small smile growing on his face. “I could say the same to you.”

Damar extended an arm, gesturing for them to walk to the turbolift together, which Weyoun happily obliged. 

“I would apologize for his behavior, but knowing the two of you will be working together for a long time, I won’t even attempt it.”

“I promise I won’t hold his… attitude… against the entire Cardassian race,” Weyoun said, with a gentle nod of his head. 

Damar directed the turbolift to the Promenade, and they were quiet as it traveled downwards. The doors slid open and Weyoun stepped out, opening his mouth to invite Damar to come with him to Quark’s to play a game of Dabo but deciding against it at the last second, and they parted there. Weyoun gave Damar a smile that he wasn’t sure the meaning of, and Damar returned it, and that smile got Weyoun through the rest of the day.

Later that same week, just as Weyoun had thought that perhaps his camaraderie with Damar had worn off, Damar invited him to have dinner with him and Gul Dukat’s daughter. Weyoun had been hesitant to accept, he’d not had much contact with Ziyal and had assumed she would behave similarly to her father, but she was surprisingly kind. 

Damar and Ziyal’s friendship seemed a rather unlikely one, considering Ziyal was known to be friends with Kira and was right on the brink of becoming a traitor, but the way he behaved towards her was almost fatherly. Perhaps he felt bad that she’d gone through most of her life without her parents, and hoped to fix that, because her own father certainly wasn’t. 

They began meeting nearly every week for dinner, although usually Ziyal and Damar would discuss art and music and try to teach Weyoun the beauty of it all, and while he couldn’t exactly appreciate it, he could appreciate their enthusiasm. It was nice. They made Weyoun happy.

And every once in a while, Damar would grace him with that smile, the one that Weyoun didn’t quite understand but nevertheless thought about for hours afterward.

****Weyoun Nine: Present Day****

_Your words like whispers written on my skin._

A week later, Garak was visiting Weyoun in the refugee camp, bringing Siasha with him. 

“You need to take her,” Garak said in greeting. “At least for the time being.”

“Wha--no, I can’t. I don’t have--”

Garak cut him off, addressing Siasha. “Siasha, why don’t you get some food from that nice lady right over there, alright? We’ll stay right here, I promise.” 

Siasha glanced from Garak to Weyoun, whom she had immediately attached herself to as soon as she’d seen him. Weyoun nodded to her as if in confirmation of Garak’s words, and she scampered off. 

“She’s just lost her parents, and for reasons I cannot _fathom_ she has chosen you to help her recover from her grief. I know you care about her, and despite the…” Garak glanced over at Siasha to make sure she was out of earshot before continuing, “the fact that you are, technically of course, the one who killed her parents, I know you care about her. I’ve seen you looking for information on how to care for children when you visit the orphanage, so at the very _least,_ consider it.”

Weyoun opened his mouth, then closed it again, and then managed to find the words. “I’ll consider it.”

Garak nodded. “And spend the day with her, she’s been asking about you. I should be getting back.”

He left without a goodbye, and Weyoun had the very solid feeling that he had just become a parent. 

**Epilogue**

_I did not mean to miss your funeral._

Weyoun didn’t visit Damar’s grave until over a year later. It was the two year mark of the destruction of Lakaria City.

He brought Siasha with him. 

Not that he really went anywhere without her.

She was nearly eleven now, all her front teeth had grown in and her hair was short, clipped back with pins Weyoun had made himself and given to her as a birthday present, but the most important thing was that she knew. 

She knew who Weyoun was, what he’d done, and perhaps Weyoun shouldn’t have told her when she was still so young, but he hadn’t wanted her to one day find out and never forgive him for not telling her, he didn’t think he would be able to live with himself if that happened. 

It had taken her some time to get used to, and Weyoun assumed she would probably be getting used to it for the rest of her life, and he would never go so far as to ask her forgiveness. Sometimes she would ask questions about working for the Dominion, and Weyoun would try to be as honest as possible, without giving her nightmares, which was hard, but he did the best he could. 

Siasha asked questions about Damar, too. 

She wanted to know what he was like, he was quite a hero among stories told by Cardassians, especially children. 

Weyoun told her he was brilliant, he was brave, and he was kind. He told her about the way he had fought for Cardassia, and how he would treat Weyoun like a person, not an object.

She asked if Weyoun had loved him.

Weyoun had said yes.

She asked if Damar had loved Weyoun.

He told her he didn’t know. That maybe he had, at one point, lifetimes ago, but he didn’t know. He never would, not really.

He’d never be able to apologize, to make things right, and maybe that was why Weyoun took so long to visit his grave. He knew it wouldn’t change anything, no matter how much he wished it would.

“It’s in here,” Weyoun said, directing Siasha through the gated war memorial, past all of the names that he was sure he would recognize if he stopped to read them, and he would one day, but not now. He kept going, Damar’s gravestone was towards the middle, it was rather large, he remembered Garak saying, and that it would be hard to miss. 

Weyoun had thought he’d be ready. He thought he would’ve been able to walk up to Damar’s gravestone and kneel in front of it, lay down the flowers he’d brought--he’d remembered which ones were Damar’s favorite--and speak calmly, coherently. He’d wanted to look okay in front of his--his-- his daughter. 

It hadn’t happened like that. Tears were streaming down his face before he even arrived at the gravestone, and when he finally got there, it all crashed down on top of him at once.

Not just Damar, not even Siasha’s family and the two million Cardassians buried under the rubble of Lakarian City, but everything. Everything he’d ever done, everything that had been done to him, it all came crashing down in that moment and he sobbed. 

Desperate, broken sobs, pleas for things to be different, for a way to fix everything he’d ever done, and it didn’t even matter if it was his fault or the Founder’s, because it had been _done_ and it was _permanent_ and Weyoun had never really been scared of death before.

He had never cared about someone who died. He had never thought of how permanent death was for nearly every other species. He hadn’t thought about it in that respect before, somehow. That none of them were coming back.

He could never tell Damar the way he made Weyoun’s heart speed up, and smile and laugh when he felt like dying instead of continuing to fight the war, and he’d never told him how much it meant to him when Damar called him beautiful.

Never again would he have the chance to look at him and say _maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll ask him why he suddenly decided to invite me to dinners with Ziyal. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll ask him what’s so beautiful about me, what’s so special that you think I deserve to be treated in a way I’ve always wanted to be treated but never thought I deserved, maybe tomorrow._

Because there was no tomorrow for them, no tomorrow for Damar or for Siasha’s family or so many others, but because the world was cruel in its workings, there was a tomorrow for Weyoun, and he wasn’t going to use his tomorrow to destroy someone else’s, not anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kaijuvenom)   
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> 


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